Dressforms
by Missie2
Summary: The Crystal Gems attempting to blend in over a few thousand years. Part of the Breaking Down Universe, for all other parts click my username.
1. Chapter 1

**Dressforms**

To celebrate muh birthday, I'm going to indulge in a little bit of the kind of twaddle I enjoy: clothing styles throughout history!

Normal service will resume soon.

PS: I apologize for this being quite Eurocentric, that's my specialist subject, I am woefully ignorant about history on other continents and trying to catch up.

…..

 _ **Pre-History**_

When it becomes clear that the bipedal creatures wandering around in small clutches are going to be the dominant race on Earth (it was a toss-up between them and the tentacled creatures of the ocean, but the bipeds won out), Rose suggests that they should isolate themselves so as not to interfere with their natural development.

She can't help herself sometimes, though. She doesn't like to see them go hungry or cold, and the severe climate shock nearly wipes them out followed by a long lean drought. When she sees them again, they are wearing the skins of the animals they hunt and in time they learn to weave cloth. She knows they'll be fine without her.

…..

 _ **Ancient Rome**_

Rose chooses to meet Augustus alone. He is a dangerous man with dangerous ambitions, she is told, and she's heartily sick of watching Roman soldiers march across territories they have no business being in. The Gauls keep a respectful distance, and she prefers it that way.

The stola is manifested in layers of fine gauzy stuff that the Romans have no way of producing themselves, held together with gold threads, pink upon white upon pink. She leaves her hair loose, and doesn't manifest sandals as a good Roman woman might have. She is not a good Roman woman, and this must be made clear.

He pales dramatically when he sees her, the rumoured Goddess of the Gauls made flesh. She towers above him, fluttering and feminine as she is, and leaves a sizeable dent in the goblet of wine he gives her to display her strength.

He offers her riches, advantageous marriages and even land. She replies that the land is not his to give. Abashed, he assures her that his men will never cross her path again.

He is a man of his word, if nothing else. She dons the stola just twice more to meet with his successors, Claudius Caesar and Vespasian Caesar. They are decent men, but she is heartily sick of Rome and the stola never really suited her anyway.

Later, she asks Pearl to manifest a stola, and it looks so much better on her that she wondered if she should have sent Pearl instead.

…..

 _ **Tribal Africa**_

Regrettably, they spend very little time on the African continent because the many different tribes hold people of such variety that they can never predict whether they'll be greeted as representatives of their gods or condemned as witches and chased away.

It's a shame, because Rose loves their music and their stories, and the beautiful objects they create and insist she take with her for 'protection.' This is Garnet's preferred continent, they see her as a particularly large and beautiful woman who must belong to their tribe. Little squabbles break out between the tribes, to some it's clear that Garnet has Bambara blood and to others she's obviously Ngombe. Her third eye doesn't even phase them.

What Rose especially enjoys about them is their lax attitude to clothing. In such hot regions nudity is normal, not just for the young with their beautiful smooth skins but for fat little infants and stooping elders. They decorate their skins with ocher and pigmented oils and shave intricate patterns into their hair. When they do feel the need to wear clothing, a band of fabric tied around the waist usually suffices, sometimes a woven cloak of plant fibres.

The ritual scars, however, is something Rose cannot understand. Still rich with the memories of having patches scorched onto her gem, the idea of permanently altering her form in this fashion is ironically alien to her.

They flee the African continent for the best part of three hundred years after a misplaced tear of Rose's falls on a Mamprusi warrior and clears away all of the scars he has earned in his lifetime. The entire tribe chases them across the forest, and unwilling to fight them, Rose has to settle for blocking their way by throwing a boulder in their path.

She is very amused to find that the incident makes its way into folktales eventually, though she is referred to as an angry elephant spirit with a grudge against the Mamprusi.

…..

 _ **Heian Era Japan**_

On the rare visits to Japan, they are welcomed by the Fujiwara clan. As in Africa, they are taken for animal spirits and given every privilege in the hopes that they will bestow good fortune on the clan. The Fujiwara hardly need it; they are already incredibly powerful, but it's best to let them keep their illusions. Rose has the sakura trees blossom in greater volume than has ever been seen before, and they are suitably impressed.

This is not a favoured place of Rose's, purely because of the dress she has to don in order to be respectful. The many layers of the junihitoe weigh heavily on her, and although the fabrics are ornate and incredibly beautiful, it reminds her of how high caste gems on Homeworld used layered apparel to show off how wealthy they were.

Using the fan to speak irritates her, using the screen even more so. Garnet has never set foot in Japan after hearing what was expected of her, and Amethyst only lasted half a day before she threw off her junihitoe and beamed back to their homebase.

Pearl, however, loves this place. She is a natural with the fan, and seems to actively enjoy hiding behind the screen. As much as she seemed to dislike the layered dress Rose had once had her wear on Homeworld, the multi-faceted symbolism of the layers of the junihitoe seem to strike a chord in her. Perhaps it's because they don't have to move much, and most movements are carefully controlled and graceful, purposeful. The court ladies take her for a crane spirit, and it becomes a minor fashion to wear a small silvered mirror on one's brow in the absence of an actual pearl.

Rose is happy to send her back on solo excursions; it's rare enough that Pearl wants to go anywhere alone, let alone more than once. On one of these trips she meets a young woman who would later come to be known as Murasaki no Shikibu (Pearl knows and remembers her true name, but has always chosen for her own reasons to keep it to herself.) She makes ever more frequent visits while Murasaki writes her poems and during the decade-long completion of her famous novel.

In 1014, Murasaki no Shikibu dies, and Pearl will not return to Japan for over 500 years. In the space of her gem, unseen by even Rose, there is a scroll with a poem written for her by her dear friend.

…..

 _ **Twelfth Century Europe**_

They are different countries, but not that different. France, Italy, England, Spain... the languages are fascinating in how they vary from place to place. Christianity has spread like a weed, sprouting churches and cathedrals all over the lands.

The covering of women's hair is irritating, but Rose enjoys the interesting architecture of the headpieces they wear to cover said hair. The bliauts with their dramatic sleeves and ornate embroidery are fun to wear, they are loose-fitting and pleasantly draped.

Oddly, it is Amethyst who prefers these places. She enjoys the chaos, Rose thinks, and wearing her hair long and loose is accepted because she is taken either for a child or a dwarf. Dwarves are coveted for their novelty, and Rose has to tell many a monarch that Amethyst is not for sale.

They do not travel much during this time. Their homebase is on an isolated coast, and Rose has learned that the humans are just as adept at picking fights with each other as gems have been, and it's best to let them get on with it for a while. She does step in from time to time when one country looks to be at a severe disadvantage, and this prompts a lot of conquer-hungry monarchs to back off.

She gives her bliauts to Amethyst to do with what she will. Amethyst eats them.

…..

 _ **Tudor England**_

Her first instinct when she sees the stiff gowns, the stomachers and the overlaid sleeves and the high arching ruffs, is to think of those curious little lizards that unfurl a frill to make themselves appear larger and more threatening to an attacker. She looks at Elizabeth, Queen of England, and sees a scared young woman trying to make herself appear larger than life.

Rose wears the gowns and the stomachers but forgoes the ruff and the partlet. She is well-known in England now, and has earned this privilege. Pearl is more nervous about not fulfilling courtly protocol, and even wears a coif though she doesn't have to.

The precious stones that the wealthy dot on every corner of their clothes they can fit is vulgar to Rose's eyes. When Elizabeth passes and the throne is passed on to James, formerly of Scotland, they leave England and intend to stay away for as long as possible. Rose tosses her confining stomacher gown out of the window on her way out.

…..

 _ **Seventeenth Century Sweden**_

They have spent many years away from Europe, but when news reaches Rose's ear of the scandalous behaviour of a young queen, she knows she has to pay Sweden a visit. She dons a layered but light gown, secured with stays and with sleeves almost as wide as her head, and then feels very foolish when she is introduced to Queen Christina.

Christina is dashing in a loose-fitting man's shirt and breeches cut to display her shapely legs, with a brocaded frock coat thrown over to keep it at least a little respectable. On their second meeting, Rose tosses the gown and manifests her own 'mens' outfit. Christina is delighted, now there are two scandalous women at court.

Christina's rumoured mistress, Ebba Sparre, hovers nearby at all times. She is a wispy little scrap of a thing, all big eyes and tiny birdlike bones, swimming in her voluminous silks. Rose cannot help but be reminded of Pearl and in that moment miss her, as she had declined to make the journey with Rose.

Christina insists that they be painted together in a portrait, and they both don a military jacket of brocaded scarlet trimmed with white fur. It is one of a few portraits that exist of Rose Quartz, and after the Crystal Gems resume their isolation scholars will write many pages on the mysterious pink-haired woman, who she was and where she came from.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dressforms**

 **Chapter Two**

More historical blatherings from yours truly, my recent writing spout of inspiration has not dried up yet and I'm getting loads done, just not on the fanwork side as such.

Note: if you're an interested reader and you happen to be from a culture you would like to see represented in this fic, (particularly if you are Native American) please consider getting in touch via Tumblr or comments so I can brainstorm a bit with you and make sure I get my facts straight. Research is great but actual voices are better.

…..

 **Pre-history**

Humans (though they will not be known as such for many, many years) are a gentle, pleasant form of life to be around. Their families, such as they are, intrigue Rose; gems are pulled from the earth alone, and though they form attachments they are mostly alone, and when they do die, they are mostly alone.

But humans bear offspring, care for them with pleasure, and have so many ways of showing love. Not just the mother who gives life to their child, but the grandmother who helps her birth, and the father who carries the child with him when they journey, the tribe that gathers food to feed them all, the friends who sit by the fire and tell stories and paint the walls and make beautiful objects to give to their loved ones.

Rose knows it cannot last, because for many years Gemkind were gentle and loving, until they needed more and more space to grow and came into conflict with other creatures. The humans are the most successful species on a planet of billions of different species; their numbers will grow, and they will fight each other when there is nothing left to fight.

But she enjoys their company while she can. She dresses in furs and allows them to paint her skin, and to carve little statues in her honour. She listens to their stories, simple as they are, and when food is particularly scarce she channels some of her energy into the soil to aid them in their constant quest for survival.

Their innocence is fleeting, and it's best to enjoy it while she can.

…..

 **Alexander the (not so) Great**

Rose has had enough.

For the most part, and knowing as she does that humans will find reasons to fight with each other no matter what, she has ignored Greece, ignored Egypt, ignored every little upstart that happens to think they are divine by birth and therefore entitled to far more land than they could possibly need. But this Macedonian pup is taking things beyond even Rose's tolerance.

Alexander is undefeated in battle, she is told. It's about time he was knocked back down to earth.

She beams into Gaugumela, accompanied by Garnet, just as Alexander is getting ready to lead a charge against Darius. They are both dressed in fillets, bordered in gold, with gold diadems on their heads.

The effect is immediate; a good half of Alexander's troops sink to the ground in worship, the other half look desperately to their king for guidance.

"My lady," Alexander gasps as she approaches. "You have come to..."

He is cut off mid-sentence when she delivers an open-handed slap across his chiselled jaw, knocking him right off of his horse. The whole army gasps, and the opposing army gasps along with them.

"I've had quite enough of this," Rose growls down at him. "Go home, or I'll drag you there myself."

"My lady," he mumbled, clutching his jaw. "The conquest...with just one more victory..."

"You have more than enough land for one man," Rose scolds. "Your men are tired and sick of war. Nobody wants you here. Go home."

Alexander jumps to his feet, his face red and furious.

"I am a son of Zeus," he cries. "I will..."

"Oh, you are not," Rose sneers. "You're just a mortal man who happens to be a bit good at war. But I assure you, you are not as good at war as I am. Now, are you really prepared to fight me?"

Alexander's men shift uncomfortably, stroking the pommels of their weapons.

In one graceful, casual movement, Garnet raises her arm to stretch and shifts her mass to make her fist the size of Alexander's horse.

"I'll take three quarters if you want to concentrate on him and his guards," she tells Rose lazily.

Alexander swallows, and turns to his army.

"The goddess has spoken," he tells them, face growing redder by the moment. "We shall advance no further, out of respect."

The whole army breathes a sigh of relief as one, and they turn their horses and trudge back to camp.

Rose and Garnet turn and stroll casually towards the Persian army. Darius himself rides out to greet them, falling at their feet and heaping praise on them.

"Oh, great lady," he cries. "You are our salvation..."

"Yes, I am," Rose tells him sternly. "Don't get any ideas. If I hear you've been tracing his steps, I'll have to come back."

Darius pales a little, and nods.

…..

 **Attila the Hun**

Rose hasn't been anywhere near Rome in years, and she's not best pleased to be going back. However, she knows that the Empire is in decline, and it's ironic that they went begging her for help.

The Huns are quite primitive, at least compared to the Romans they're battling, but that's understandable for a nomadic race; everything must be picked up and transported or it's useless. Despite herself, Rose is impressed by human resourcefulness.

They are dressed in the attire of the Huns; trousers and coats made from skins and furs, linen undershirts and the pointed cap. It suits Amethyst perfectly, she is as stout and broad as the Huns themselves. The attire makes Garnet and Rose look like living walls, and they swamp Pearl entirely, making her look like a child.

Attila himself strolls out to greet them genially, Rose is coldly polite; she has seen what he has done to the lands he drags his people through. He is a small man, although rumours spread around that he was eight foot tall, and he seems friendly and good-natured, though there is a gleam in his eye that betrays his more vicious leanings.

They speak in his tent, and again and again he tries to explain why his campaign of terror is a good thing.

"You are not best fond of Rome, great lady," Attila tries to ingratiate with her. "It is known to me, I am not best fond of Rome myself."

"I'm not fond of bloodshed for no reason," Rose argued back.

"I am the punishment of God," he told her. "God wills it, or I would not be so successful."

"We shall see," she answers. She is sick of humans using God as an excuse.

A suggestion is put to them; the Huns will pick a champion to defend their warmongering, and they will battle one of the gems. God will ensure that the right person wins, and as an extra sign of goodwill Rose will let him pick the gem.

Attila knows a little of the gems and their power, but not enough. And his choice is sadly predictable; Rose is a giant, Garnet is visibly powerful, Amethyst is clearly ready for a fight...but Pearl is smaller and thinner than even the oldest, weakest members of the Hun compound, and defeatable.

The whole community turns out to watch the fight, but it's over in the blink of an eye. When the Hun champion charges at Pearl with his sword, she simply ducks under, snaps his arm, takes his blade and knocks him so hard into the ground it forms a crater underneath him.

"There's no need to kill him, Pearl," Rose calls out, loud enough for even the spectators at the back to hear. "I think that'll do nicely."

Pearl shrugs and saunters back to Rose's side.

"I'm keeping this," she tells Rose, holding up the sword.

…..

 **Mozart**

"How did it go?" Pearl asks as Rose beams in, muttering darkly.

"That man is insufferable," Rose tells her, taking the pins out of her hair and shaking it loose. A cloud of thick powder fell like snowflakes; it was a better option than wearing an actual powdered wig, but only just.

"Well, you don't have to go back..." Pearl suggests.

"Oh? So you'll go back for me then?" Rose asks, straining her chest and stomach to pop out her stays, groaning with relief as they give way.

Pearl actually looks like she might agree for a moment; she has only ever denied Rose once as far as she remembered. Unfortunately, that one time was refusing to go back to Vienna.

"It's fine, never mind," Rose says with a wave, tugging off her panniers and leaving them in a little cloth puddle on the floor.

Pearl sighs with relief, and still at least half in her heavy brocade gown Rose flops down beside her. She throws her aching head down on Pearl's lap. Pearl shifts straight into caretaking mode, rummaging through Rose's curls for pins she missed.

"How is it possible for a man to talk and talk and yet say nothing?" Rose groans into Pearl's lap.

"That's what they all sound like to me," Pearl replies. "Do you really have to go back?"

"I gave my word that I would try to get him to back down on Turkey," Rose mumbles tiredly. "It's ridiculous but they were desperate for me to intervene, and you know how I get when anyone begs."

"Why is he so opposed? Didn't you say he can't afford this war?"

"He can't... he might if he cut back on his patronage of the arts but he has no intention..."

Rose shoots up suddenly as an idea strikes her hard.

"Amethyst!" she yells.

"Yeah?" Amethyst calls back.

"Would you like to visit your friend Wolfgang for a little while?"

Within moments of their return, powdered wigs and panniers and all, the greatest musical genius of his generation and a small purple alien are sitting at the piano banging the keys and trying to outdo each other with the most disgusting lyrics. The noise is deafening, Mozart's donkey-bray laugh echoed with Amethyst's husky guffaws.

Joseph 2nd, the Holy Roman Emperor, knows when he's been beaten. He will have no finished opera as long as Amethyst is distracting Mozart.

"I expect you know this is not fighting fair," he grumbles, signing the papers.

"Oh, I do," Rose agrees sweetly.

" **...lick all the arses nice and clean!"** the bawdy two shriek at the end of their song.

…..

Note: The above lyrics are unfortunately somewhat accurate. Mozart was a douchey frat boy in many ways.


End file.
